


To Whom It May Concern

by PinkAfroPuffs



Series: Tales of the Champion [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Familial Trauma? We got that, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 04:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16633370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkAfroPuffs/pseuds/PinkAfroPuffs
Summary: “To Whom it may Concern,I am going to kill you, sister. But not with a sword. I am going to do worse than when you and Carver dropped my underclothes in the manure and then acted like they had just been washed. Worse than when you ate all of my cream puffs and then lied about it. In fact, I think soon the Darkspawn will be the least of your troubles.Quit telling people my business!Love you,Signed,Your Favorite SiblingP.s. I am sending you some ale. I miss you. And I’m sorry.





	To Whom It May Concern

It was a well-known secret that despite her gift for cleaving her enemies in half with her sword, Talia Hawke-Amell was a mage.

Truthfully it was less of a secret and more of a one-off fact; people could say what they wanted if they ever noticed (which they wouldn’t) or if what they’d seen was the trick of the light, but after spending so many years with her father and Bethany and figuring out what being an apostate meant, it was clear that it was better to hide. She wasn’t very good at it anyway; she could use a staff properly and all that, cast a couple of spells, blah, blah. But really, all she ever did was warm up some drinks when they were cold with that talent. Or, like, make some lemonade colder.

Besides! If she took all the staffs _and_ the swords, what would dear Bethany have to use? Her wits? Bah!

Either way, it was not publicly known, though she wasn’t _technically_ hiding it once they arrived in Kirkwall, though she also, technically was. What was she to do, a poor farm girl from Lothering, the only one obligated to take care of her mother and sister? Go to a Circle?

...on that note, she was sure she had to keep Bethany _out_ of the Circle. There was definitely something fishy going on in there.

“So what was Lothering like, Hawke?” Varric was always nosy, but she didn’t mind. He was that one friend that she’d be down to...whatever, if he asked.

“You’ve never been out of the Free Marches?” She teased. “I should’ve known you were more of a homebody. You’ve certainly been gaining weight like one.”

“Hey now.” He warned.

“Alright, alright.” She crossed her arms, peeking into the Blooming Rose for half a second before she turned to him, nodding a tiny bit. “Lothering was like…mm...have you ever tried to get a suddenly sexy old woman to teach you how to become a dragon?”

“...I don’t know what that means, and I’m worried about asking.”

“It’s more difficult than that,” she finished. “Living in Lothering was suffering for _so_ many reasons, but it was home. We had a farm, you know.” She flexed, casually. This was done on purpose, seeing as she’d brought Fenris along on this errand. “That’s how I became so. _Impressive._ ”

“...fair point,” Varric eyed her with interest, though he noticed who she was looking at. “But you can quit peacocking now. You take up that entire view.”

“Shhh!” She gently whacked him in the shoulder. Her cheeks felt warm. It would have been nice to have gotten some of those _suave_ genes from her father instead of his magic, but here she was. Floundering and peacocking around a handsome elf.

“I miss the farm,” Bethany sighed behind them. “It was so much simpler, then.”

“Yes, because _you_ weren’t doing all of the work,” Talia quipped. “ _Some_ of us had to pick up the slack while _you_ got lessons from father.”

Bethany did her little pout, which always made Hawke feel as though she was somewhere between whining and boxing her in the middle of the streets. One could never tell with her. “You got those same lessons from father.”

“Double the work!” She threw her hands up. “Besides, it was lost on me.”

“You say that, but you’ve never had a cold cup of coffee.”

“Shut up, Bethany.”

* * *

 

It was Anders, who outed her. She wasn’t quite sure of how he knew, given she was very careful about all of that, but on instinct, her gloved hand shot out and she socked him directly in the jaw.

Really, it was an accident. She was shocked! Besides, someone hiding out in Darktown under the guise of ‘not really being a doctor but not really a mage’ should’ve known better than to go, “Oh- You’re a _mage_ outside of the Circle-”

Listen. He was asking for that one. Though it was an accident. Really.

“MAKER-” Embarrassed, she caught him as he fell, discreetly dragging him over to a place with a chair or some cushions. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to _hit_ you.”

“That’s...that’s alright. You’re...you’re hiding, aren’t you?” His nose was bleeding. She didn’t think he’d been hit there, but there was definitely red liquid trickling out of his nose and over his mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that, it was my fault.”

“Well, now _you’re_ the one bleeding, and that’s _my_ fault!” She grabbed a piece of cloth- any cloth- she could find and began wiping his face. “Uhm...tilt your head forward, I think? Bethany, what do you do when you have a nosebleed?”

“Forward, not back.”

“Sweet, I got it right.”

“That’s one way to flirt, I guess,” Anders coughed, and she sort of smiled.

“I’m a woman of many talents, now _please_ tilt your head forward.”

Once the bleeding stopped and the commotion died down, he introduced himself. And then flirted with her shamelessly. Though she’d been a bit pleased- she wasn’t overly aware of her “startling beauty”, as he put it, and would _very much_ like to hear more about it- she’d put up her hand. “I’m flattered, but no thank you. You’re very nice, but...I came to help you, that’s all. I was told you know a way into the Deep Roads?”

“The Deep Roads?” He seemed skeptical. “Why would you want to go down there? Nothing down there but Darkspawn and the occasional dwarf corpse.”

“Apparently that’s fortune, down there,” Hawke insisted, “and since everything I’ve got is looted, I don’t have to tell you that I’m in need of some fortune right about now.”

Bethany cleared her throat behind her.

“...my _family_ is in need of it.”

“Oh. So you’re refugees? From the Blight?” Something twinkled in his eyes then, and from that day Hawke could never forget that look. “...I see. Well, if your offer still stands, I’ll do better than tell you. I can _show_ you, if that’s what you want.”

Hawke clapped her hands once, twice, and then three times. “Sounds wonderful! I might even give you a piece of the pie, Grey Warden! Now, where are we going?”

A grim expression passed over his features, the grimace pulling at his lip and then his jaw at once. “...I’ll show you.”

* * *

 

She wished, at some point in their endeavor, that she did not know about the Rite of Tranquility.

Karl was a sad sort of man, and obviously a mage (if the robes didn’t do it, the huge mark on his forehead that denoted _tranquility_ surely did), but after hearing about exactly _why_ the whole thing had happened, Talia Hawke was filled with the kind of dread that could only fill a secret mage.

“Talia….there are templars,” Bethany’s voice echoed through her mind, shoving her back into battle. “I think we should get rid of them _now_ , before they _tell anyone_ -”

Her sword- the Purple People Eater- burrowed deep into a Templar’s heart as soon as Bethany said so, her own eyes wide. “Of course, sister. I know that.” Why hadn’t she considered how dangerous this might have been to start? This Anders guy was bold, but…

 _Father warned us about templars._ About how they’d hurt him. How they wouldn’t have been born if he hadn’t been so clever.

When the last one went down, her shoulders relaxed, sword back on her back in a flourish. “Well. That’s that-” She stiffened once she realized Bethany was looking at her, her expression grim when she tapped Hawke’s shoulder with her staff. Anders was standing in front of Karl, speaking at first in hushed tones amidst the corpses of templars. Varric, too, lowered Bianca, eyebrows furrowing to listen.

“Karl, please, please tell me some of you is still in there?” His hands clasped around one of Karl’s, his eyes tightening as he searched Karl for something, _anything_ that was like his former self.

“...Anders. You have to...you have to kill me. I can’t...hold on much longer,” he whispered.

Hawke turned her head. Wind taken out of her sails, she swallowed and tried not to listen. Didn’t work, since she had two working ears with a pretty stellar connection to her brain.

It didn’t matter, though, in the end. The whispers, the hushed tones, died down into silence, and the Tranquil mage, Karl, was lost. She didn’t have to see the tears in Anders’ eyes to see how much he’d meant to him; hands shaking as he let go of Karl, he took a deep breath and suddenly said, “He asked me to kill him.”

Silence. Talia didn’t know how to respond, really; being tranquil sounded awful, having one’s connection to the Fade severed so _completely_ , and still be alive. Besides, anything forced on you- on someone who couldn’t protest, couldn’t say _no_ \- had to be awful.

It had to be. Her skin was crawling at the thought of it.

“You should respect his wishes.”

Strange, she thought, to hear Bethany say that. Stranger, still, to see her brown knuckles shaking as she held her staff, lips pushed to closed together and face so scrunched that she almost looked constipated. Maybe she was holding a deeper emotion in. Maybe this _was_ the display of said emotion.

Startlingly, Anders turned to _her_ , his eyes boring into hers while they did that weird, sparkly glowy thing she’d witnessed upon entry. “And you?”

She pressed her lips together. For a moment, she considered that Anders did _not_ know about her, and had been talking about _Bethany_ when they’d met. That maybe he was asking because she was an outside party, with nothing at stake.

This was why she said, “I agree with Bethany. He wished it of you in his final moments. It wouldn’t be right to ignore it, especially if it’s not really him anymore.”

 _Not really him._ She wasn’t sure why she said that, or if that churning in her stomach was a sign that she was not distant enough from the idea to stick around. There were a lot of things she wasn’t sure about. All of them were worrying, like gnats constantly buzzing around one’s sink, or uncrushable pigeons.

“.....right. We…..should go.” She whispered, gesturing to Bethany and Varric, and with a certain haste that only came when escaping discomfort in a respectable manner, they went to wait outside the Chantry.

* * *

 

She was silly to fall for the one man that had more reason to fear mages than anyone else, especially with her secret burning in her gut. Still, he was...polite about it, though she didn’t blame him for being angry. Fenris was more than right to be wary. Hawke entertained the company of many mages, after all- and one was a blood mage. It didn’t matter if he didn’t know that she was one. They both knew her stance on mages was clear; that magic was dangerous but that people should be free. He couldn’t argue with any of it, since he was of the same mind- even if his true stance was clear.

“You are a curious woman, Hawke,” he said one day, watching her as she entered his house- or the house that _rightfully_ belonged to him, given Danarius didn’t deserve piss anyway.

“Why this time?” She teased. “Is it because of the war paint? Because if you wanted to know,” she wiggled her eyebrows, “I _do_ wear it in my sleep, sometimes.”

This was mostly by accident, but she didn’t say so. Better to act like she was cute about it than admit she was a Disaster.

He _did_ laugh, though, which made her feel a little lighter, silly as it may have seemed. “...I meant…” He didn’t meet her eyes for a moment, searching the floor at first for something that wasn’t there. “You’ve been stopping by for a little while now. Though I’m unsure of why.”

A smirk wiggled past her lips and across her face, though she tried to force it down. “You are?”

He watched her with interest. “But I have a feeling you will enlighten me.”

Talia grinned, sort of half-dancing around the table away from him, suddenly bashful to admit that there were _many_ reasons why she visited him- though some were more important than her own silly infatuation. “Well, Fenris, I don’t know how to tell you that I am often concerned about others’ well being, especially when they’re sort of running for their lives from Abhorrent people.” She could have said _shems_ but she refrained. Her father had said it so often that she looked at most humans that way. Especially slavers.

“I’ve noticed. You’ve even adopted a blood mage,” he leaned back a little bit, half teasing and half accusing. He was good at that. Being flirty and feeling out his allies at once.

“Indeed. She needed asylum and I gave it to her. Better than what the Free Marches did for my family,” she found herself saying, though she didn’t want to sound rude. “Just like I gave you asylum.”

“They aren’t _quite_ the same.”

“No. They are and aren’t the same,” she admitted. “But you both needed asylum, so I gave it. Best I could. Now you both have work, and, on occasion, friends to play cards with!”

Fenris nodded a little, pacing just slightly around the room. After a pause, he said, “There is...something I wanted to ask you.”

She waited, completely still as her hand grasped her opposite elbow for support, hoping it would keep her sane. “Yes?”

“...you are a mage, aren’t you?”

Her heart stopped. For a moment she didn’t know what she was looking at, somewhat thrown into a disorienting dizziness that made her contemplate a lie. “I…”

He watched her curiously, calm, measured, and somewhat guarded. Waiting for something. For her.

Her hands flew into her hair, the fluffy poof of her afro a sense of comfort as she pulled at her pony-tail puff, taking deep, deep breaths. After a while of calming herself down, she breathed, “Yes. How did you know?”

“Bethany spoke of it often.”

She swore. Bethany would be fearing something _worse_ than Darkspawn soon. “She never keeps her mouth shut.”

“Why did you lie?”

Her shoulders relaxed. “I didn’t. I never lied. I just...didn’t say anything!”

“A lie by omission,” he affirmed, fingers dancing across the table. Still, he sounded very calm. She wasn’t sure why.

“Fenris, I’m sorry. I just…” A deep breath. “I _have_ to hide, for my family.” Suddenly it was all excuses, all fears, all _noises_ clawing at the back of her throat, whispering things she didn’t understand. “I have to take care of my mother, and I can’t do that if I get sent to a Circle. Besides I’m-” She gestured wildly. “I’m not that good! I’m not….I wasn’t _meant_ to be a mage. I like my sword, I _want_ my sword, and it’s not fair that I should….”

_“Papa, look what I can do!”_

“....that I should….”

_“Malcolm, this is your fault. A mage? Who will teach her? What are we to do?”_

Maker, was she _crying_ ? He hadn’t been unkind, or even accusatory, and this was _her_ sin. She’d repented more times than she could count, and crying about it was just stupid. “I...have to go.” Andraste’s ass. “I’m sorry, Fenris, it was nice talking to you.”

She didn’t wait for him to speak to her, or sort anything out. She didn’t want to. She just wanted to hear the slam of the front door, the brisk stillness of the night air, the rank smell of nobles.

Those were comforts. Those were concrete and unmovable. They were home.

Labored breathing. She was still in public. Mother was in the house, and she would see her crying about nothing- or maybe she was asleep already. Maybe she was reading upstairs, or entertaining herself some other way.

Brown fingers brushed against the door handle, before she turned and let her feet carry her elsewhere. Anywhere. Nowhere.

* * *

 

“I’ve got some tea ready?”

Merrill usually phrased things like questions when she knew something was wrong, or was at a loss for how to make it right. Hawke had showed up at the Alienage with bloodshot eyes, the red-brown undertones of her skin swollen around her cheeks in a way that made her Ferelden warpaint look puffed up, blotchy and rude under any light. “Here, Hawke. This should warm your belly-”

“Did you know too?” Her voice sounded hoarse, but she ignored it. It was better to sound like hell than nothing at all.

“What are you talking about?” Merrill blinked a couple of times, obviously wondering if she missed something. “Did I know you were cryin’? I’m fairly sure anyone would know by looking at you…”

“That I’m a mage, Merrill. Did you know that I was a mage?” She whispered, and Merrill paused in the middle of draping a blanket over her, fabric brushing against her now-bare shoulders and slightly smelling of the outside.

Merrill’s eyes went up to the ceiling, lost in thought. “Well, no, I didn’t know. But I feel I should’ve. The Fade sort of sings around you too, doesn’t it? I always thought it was just me confusing how you’re always around Fenris, what with his lyrium, and-”

“Wait. Fenris...what?” She pulled the blanket up to her nose, squinting at her for a moment. “What are you saying?”

“Well, the thing about Fenris, is that, oh….you know. His...lyrium, his scars, they hum like magic from time to time, but a different kind. The Fade doesn’t sing around him, though. It’s just sort of connected there.”

Hawke contemplated this for a few moments, pulling the green-tweed blanket closer to her person. “...the Fade sings around me?”

“Yes! Very much so, but it often does with elves. They say that we all have an innate connection. Isn’t that exciting? There was a legend about Arlathan, and-” Her hands fluttered to her cheeks. “I’m gettin’ a bit ahead of myself, I think.”

Her gaze softened. She knew Merrill had no idea what all of it meant to her, despite it sounding like rambling. “Thank you, Merrill.”

“Hm? Well, I’m happy to help when I can,” she smiled. “It’s a bit drafty in here, sorry about that.”

“...Merrill?”

“Yes?”

“...can you teach me…” She paused a little bit, considering how faint that hum must have been for her to mistake it for Fenris instead of another mage. “...nothing. Thank you for having me here.”

“Oh, Hawke.” She put her hands on her shoulders before wrapping them around Talia’s person, her arms clearly stronger than they looked, since Hawke felt thrown into Merrill’s shoulder. “I’ll always be here when you need me. _We_ all will.” When she pulled back, she watched her with some skepticism, tilting her head a little bit to inspect her. “What were you crying about?”

Hawke realized suddenly that she hadn’t been up front about it- or maybe, she thought, it was too hard to put in ways that one could _understand_ \- and that it really just seemed like Hawke was crying about being a secret mage. She wasn’t. “...I…” Thoughts flew from her head and into the air, though not in a manner that was altogether coherent; with a sigh, her tongue loosened, the permission to pull at a deep-seated issue suddenly granted after twenty-seven long years.

“...my parents didn’t want a mage.” She admitted. “My father was an elven apostate, and when he and my mother ran away together, they realized that being on the run wasn’t actually that fun. So when they had me,” her feet suddenly seemed interesting, “thinking I might fix the growing rift between them, they were hopeful. And I turned out to be a mage.”

A sharp inhale through her nose. An exhale. Then, “They didn’t have to say anything. Or at least, mother didn’t. She started blaming father for my talents, you know. That I should be sent to the nearest Circle. Why would she say that, after what she and father had been through? After she’d known?” Hands rubbing together to stave off their abrupt clamminess, she couldn’t bring herself to meet Merrill’s eyes. “So I took up a sword. I liked it better, anyway, and well...someone had to teach Carver, right?”

_“You’re just playing around. You have a choice. You could fling magic from your palms if you wanted, and you mock me by playing in the dirt like I do.”_

“Fenris, uhm….found out.” She admitted. “Anders knew when I met him, but I guess I see why now. But I…” What could she say? Maker, this was difficult. She couldn’t get _too_ into how much she hated herself, hated her talents, her life, and _Andraste_ , sometimes she hated her _family_. It was too much. Too much to push onto Merrill, to ask her to understand, to listen. Merrill, who had already validated her elf-blooded existence. Merrill, who had already taken her into her home without a word. “Got scared. When he asked, so!” She scrubbed at her eye. “I ran! I mean, isn’t it scary to find out someone you knew has the power your oppressors had? That I lied by omission? That I’ve been masquerading as something else!”

Maker, she was a fool. He might have even thought that she could have done anything to him. Or tried. She had that power, you know.

“It was irresponsible. All of it was. What happened to Carver, taking Bethany in the Deep Roads,” _please_ _dry my eyes, turn a blind eye to my sins, wash them clean from my hands, I am trying-_ “but everything I try is _wrong_.”

Silence. It wouldn’t be good to ask her what the Maker would say, if He cared- wouldn’t matter, anyway. Besides, it didn’t affect Merrill. Wouldn’t affect Hawke, either, if she was courageous enough to grasp at her own elven roots. Maybe the Creators were kinder to mages.

But maybe the Maker had always been kind to mages. Maybe it was humans who’d really started the unkindness. She was always stuck between them. Had a god really set her here to curse every aspect of her life for existing?

“It doesn’t matter,” she said aloud, her eyes cast on one of the walls, its wooden columns of chipped paint brittle with age and abuse. “I’m sorry for saying so.”

Merrill frowned. It was a very deep frown, not unlike a woman prepared to give a proper scolding, and Hawke shrunk back just enough to give the impression she would take the verbal beating but that she’d already done a pretty good job on her own. “Talia,” she breathed, and Hawke was struck with the sense of shock that came with someone using your first name often did, “it _does_ matter! Not the...the bad parts. But not everything you do is wrong! Look at all of the people you’ve saved, and…!” Frustrated, she stood and paced the room, obviously searching for examples. “And I won’t have you ignorin’ all of the good you’ve done because of a little lie you told for safety.”

Hawke snorted. “You’re alright with me telling lies?”

“Sometimes, lies are a good choice of action,” she affirmed. “Though I hate them. Sometimes you just...bend the truth. Who’d take care of your mother if you went to a Circle? And kept Bethany out of one- though-”

Hawke shook her head at that. “I still don’t know if that was the right choice.”

“But she _lived_ , Hawke! Your sister lives!” She exclaimed. “She might have _died_ without you,” now _she_ was getting all teary, which made Hawke, who didn’t want to admit she was an empathetic _and_ angry crier, start blubbering, “so don’t treat yourself that way. So what if you’re a mage. _I’m_ a mage-”

“I’m not even a good mage, Merrill!” She exclaimed. “I’m just sort of…...here. I-”

“You’re a _mage_ and the _best_ warrior I’ve ever seen fight! Other than Aveline. Though I think she’s in a class all on her own,” Merrill mused. “Ooh, but Fenris does that flashy thing with his weapon. It’s very skillful. Much different than either of you-”

“Merrill,” she reminded her with a gentle nudge, though she couldn’t help but smile.

“What I’m _saying_ is,” she sniffled, “not everything that goes wrong is your fault. Do you hear me?”

She pouted. “Yes, Merrill.”

“And! If Fenris doesn’t agree with me, you shouldn’t be spending your nights with him anyway,” she quipped. “Now, do you want some more tea?”

Hawke pressed her lips together, holding back the urge to correct her assumption- she hadn’t even told Fenris she liked him yet, much less spent a night with him- and instead she nodded, coughing just slightly as she agreed, “I would.”

* * *

 

_“To Whom it may Concern,_

_I am going to kill you, sister. But not with a sword. I am going to do worse than when you and Carver dropped my underclothes in the manure and then acted like they had just been washed. Worse than when you ate all of my cream puffs and then lied about it. In fact, I think soon the Darkspawn will be the least of your troubles._

_Quit telling people my business!_

_Love you,_

_Signed,_

_Your Favorite Sibling_

_P.s. I am sending you some ale. I miss you. And I’m sorry._

 

The letter was stamped with the Hawke crest so that Bethany wouldn’t make any mistake about it, especially the thinly veiled threat. Though the package was quite small, there were quite a few nice (expensive) bottles of ale, wine, and one Antivan brandy included; at the very bottom of the package was a beautiful bracelet that she’d seen in the marketplace and thought of her, hoping- praying- that she didn’t still hate her.

Or maybe she never had, and she was imagining it. Hard to tell.

Once she handed it off to the courier and the sun tickled her cheeks, she stretched and then jogged over to Fenris’ house to pick him up. He was always easiest to get, anyway. Besides, it wasn’t like she’d been avoiding him for two weeks because of the crippling anxiety that came from him finding out her secret. Pssh.

“Fenris?” She knocked on the door. “I’m not sure if you got my letter from before,” she always sent them to her friends when she got a new mission that needed doing, “since it’s been a….little bit.”

Admittedly, she was both excited and nervous to see him; she _had_ run off that last time, without any explanations or clarifications, sobbing like a babe and all that. That had to be good for their friendship.

“I will be ready soon.” The timbre in his voice made her want to melt in her grieves.

“I….know. It’s...I suppose I kind of….” Maker, how should she say this?

She didn’t find the words quickly enough to force them into relevance; after the pause when on for too long, he said something she hadn’t been expecting, “Have I done something to offend you?”

Unfathomable emotions pulled at her eyes, then her lips, and then her nose. Confusion. Maybe some relief? No. “No, no, not at all. I...actually I was...wondering if you were mad at me.”

When he came out to greet her, he looked perplexed. “I...cannot recall any reason why I would be.”

“The….” Should she remind him? Or maybe just- No. It was best to be honest. “The fact that I’m a mage, but I’m...not.”

He seemed to understand that, though he still seemed a little confused about her entire... _being_. “You...misunderstand me. I was not angry with you then, and I am not angry with you now.”

“You’re not?”

“No.”

“Then…” Maker, what was she to say? ‘I’m sorry for crying and running from your house, I have deep-set familial trauma’? “...sorry. For lying and...you know.” She gestured broadly.

“You seemed deeply upset about it,” he admitted, looking a touch concerned. “I didn’t mean to accuse you.”

“You didn’t.” Her arms crossed over her chest and she rubbed either of her elbows. “I...sort of accused myself. Why did you think I was mad at _you_?” A little amused, she tilted her head. “You were very...calm about it. Calmer than I expected you to be. I’m quite dangerous.”

“That is because of who you are, not because you are a mage,” did she see the hint of a smile? Maybe she was imagining it. Was he flirting with her again? Because she was _kind of_ into it. “If I was to be done in by your danger, it would have been before today.”

Andraste’s ass! That _was_ a smile! He _was_ teasing her!

“A fair point, Fenris,” she pressed her lips together, fighting that stupid smile pulling at her mouth. “Though you’re no paragon of safety yourself.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, walking past her as he equipped his broadsword and fastened it onto his person. “I think making an ally out of you instead of an enemy is a wise decision. Some might call that safe.”

“Oof. Fine, you win this round.” She shuffled to the door after him, biting her lip as she savored his words a little, hoping she didn’t get carried away thinking about them.

Safe. He thought she was _safe_. Mm. She could get used to that.


End file.
